Blehk. [Journal 8-4-17]

Adele – Make You Feel My Love.

Hm. How do I feel? Annoyed by the relative chaos of my new place, compared to the old – which I was forced to leave because two idiots did what idiots do: unified to demolish reason, which I just happened to exemplify for them. Annoyed that my new job’s poorly run, and thus allot of extra work falls on me, yet the two sous are cunty toward me for my imagined threat to their positions [which I don’t want].

Overall, I’m back where I started: with nothing, overworked, constantly surrounded by shitty people. Sure, I’ve got my intelligence, but it doesn’t get me anything worthwhile in a society dominated by sociopathy. Ahhhhh. I thought I was gonna keep living at that excellent old place, take a nice simple job, and write casually while looking for love. But then life throws me a curve-ball, forcing me into a bad position.

This has happened three times in a row now. First, with the cooking job that fired me – literally on the day that, while driving to work, I thought to myself “I’m happy.” Second, when I quit the repairman job, to focus on getting married to Tranny – she left a week later; I thought she was the answer to all my problems. Then, when after a year of depression immediately following her leaving, I feel like I can finally be happy and start my life fresh, two idiots shit on me within a week. Could lead a man to superstition.

But my eventual decline into insanity aside, the current situation is workable: I can get a different job after a month or two of collecting cash and reestablishing my work-history for future employers; I can get a new place, or possibly make this one work – I’m still on the fence. Hell, Ex-Landlord might evict those scumbags and ask me to come back: he knows I’m nearby, and we seem to agree on them being scumbags.

Either way, as always, I’m getting stronger. In this particular example, I’m developing and employing complex social engineering, to keep the masses calm. It’s a horrendous waste of my time and energy, but it’s simply a requirement – especially now that I’m becoming older and more masculine. I’m afraid my body’s kind of crapping out on me though.

I’m not suffering any serious pains or fatigue, I’m just not as vigorous as I used to be; I lack the “let’s fuck things up” energy that used to be superabundant. I’m tempted to quit smoking to get it back, but.. meh. As much as utilizing metacog to tolerate life is beneficial, I can only suppress so much of my desires and needs before it becomes counter-productive.

That is to say: forcing myself to quit smoking, when I have nothing in life that really drives me, kind of robs me of my last.. part of me. I can’t be myself in public or at home. I have nothing to pour my energy into that will reward me monetarily [I’ve yet to seriously start trying to write a novel]. I never really interact with my one friend. The art which previously entertained me is often unfulfilling, or galling due to it’s inability to fill the hole a partner must.

It could depress me again, but I’ve got ye olde metacog. And I’m hoping that when I start writing, the prospect of designing a perfect world will be an absorbing and psychologically rewarding activity. I’d also hope to make money at it, but I honestly doubt it will be successful: to quote Chris Rock: “Too many n***ers [in the audience].” By which I mean: there’s precious-little audience for what I would enjoy writing. Well, maybe I dumb-it-down for the dross.

I don’t know. I’m in a holding pattern: see how things go at work and at home before deciding on the next move; see how my body feels when things become routine; see how my mind/emotions feel with my life now that I’m active again, yet still ultimately ostracized; see if I can commit to writing novels. I don’t know, but I do know I need a partner. I also know the chances of finding one are slim-to-none.

But, I’ve got it in me to keep trying, so I will. Good news: I can probably save over half my paychecks. Then I guess I can use the money to pay off that damn 16k of college debt. But I’ll probably put aside 10k first, for emergencies, and if I ever find a partner and need to move. I’m gonna be seriously pissed if life fucks me next time I’m feeling secure; especially since I’m now dedicating attention and energy to keeping the dross calm.

The next blow will have to be pure, inexplicable chance. Or some form of cancer/physical ailment caused by the smoking. Wouldn’t that figure – the one thing that’s kept me going through the years, being the final blow. I feel, to quote gang members, like an “arrow.” As if I’m just a device of utilized by destiny, to convey my payload of staggering wisdom, only to be broken and cast aside. Shit, if that would mean I could just die, and never have to tolerate life again, I’d call that a good deal.

Back to the grind. Enjoy your pointlessly destructive lives. Try to keep your mouths shut and your hands to yourselves.

Random funny note: I was combing dating profiles, and one chick’s answer to “how often do you masturbate” was: “a few times a year or less.” I was unsettled, disgusted, and immediately lost interest.


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~ by Louis Naughtic on August 4, 2017.

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